No Other Options
by Insert a Catchy Penname Here
Summary: It wasn't ideal by any means, but it was all they could do in order to live. The Loric have adapted into Panem as best as possible, but when rigged Reapings intertwine their fates, they learn that saving Lorien means not only surviving the humans, but also surviving themselves...
1. Arrival

No Other Options

_**Author Note: **_Hello, fans of the Hunger Games and Lorien Legacies alike! If you're anything like me, you're obsessed with both….:D. Just so you know, this will differ from what happened in the HG series, (let's not be OC, shall we?), but if there are some similarities, well….Happy Hunger Games… . And may the odds be e_ver _in our Garde's favors….

* * *

It was never the desirable option. It was not what any of the people who inhabited the once peaceful planet wanted to happen, not any more than they wanted to be incinerated with no warning whatsoever. All of them knew that if, in the 'impossible' incident that Lorien was invaded or unable to inhabit life anymore, the surviving would have to migrate to Earth. There was only talk about the outcomes of the other planet after so many years of evaluation between both of them, such as the awakening of Lorien's powers and the apocalypse of Earth.

Lorien had flourished. Earth became Panem.

Now Lorien was fallen, and Earth was their only option if they were to live.

"It's going to be nothing like it was on Lorien," Hessu, One's Cepan, broke the restless silence between all of the traumatized little Garde and the grieving, horrified Cepans, "they kill children at random on Earth for the pleasure of their government."

"There will be twelve districts," Brandon, (Four's Cepan,) explained grimly to the others, having done quite the level of research on the planet, "they each carry out separate jobs for the government, the Capital. Whatever District you end up in, you must do as the other people do and live as they do. Keep the Garde away from them, especially as they become eligible for this…entertainment slaughter."

Solemnly and sadly, the other Cepans slowly nodded in agreement.

* * *

"Ironic, isn't it?" Hessu grumbled bitterly as she approached the last District boundary, "that Number One would end up in the last number District."

The young Number One studied her surroundings critically. Being eight years old, she could remember the beauty of her home planet, and District Twelve was a complete mess. Crossing her arms, she gave her Cepan an indignant pout.

"I don't wanna live here…" she complained.

"Yeah? Well, neither do I…" the stern woman simply sighed, grabbing the little Garde's arm and pulling her through the wire gating.

* * *

"This seems like a peaceful enough place," Jacques commented softly, clutching the sleeping six-year-old closer to his chest.

She was Number Two, which meant she would be the second to die if the Mogodorians ever caught up. Subconsciously, he wondered if the same applied to human's as he entered one of the several farmhouses in District Ten. It wasn't much, but he was convinced it would be enough for the two of them.

After all, they _were _just glad to be alive for that night.

* * *

The scent of the woods enticed Hunmek. He'd grown up in the forestry parts of Lorien, embarking on adventures with his long-time friend and adventurer, Reynolds. Though he figured it sucked for Reynolds to be stuck in a different District, he was still glad he could refuge somewhere desirable. After all, a Loric symbol hadn't been carved under the boundary sign like they'd all decided would be done for a signal.

"Come on, little man," he hefted the sleeping three-year-old Three over his shoulder carefully, "we'll find somewhere nice and warm here."

With that hopeful assurance, he passed into District Seven.

* * *

It just didn't seem quite fair.

On Lorien, Brandon was simply a Master Cepan. He wasn't very rich, but he had a wife, kids, and a new Garde to come under his wing/guidance. He was completely happy. Even losing it all to end up in the most glorified District in this Panem didn't make it right in his mind; he wouldn't being in poverty in this place, because he felt hollow inside.

_At least the boy will have happiness…._he thought numbly as he passed in, having the fearful Four clinging to his back, _maybe he'll still have a fighting chance. _

* * *

Jemstone always knew that relief was never going to be a given. On Lorien, she'd lost her husband, the only reason she still smiled because after her bitter grandmother's angry raising. Now that he was gone and she was left with her saved seven-year-old daughter and the five-year-old Number Five, she was numb and empty inside.

She found the District with morphine supplies, known as District Six.

"Mommy, why do we gotta live here?" Summer inquired, wrinkling her nose in disgust.

"For...to be happy…" Jem whispered, "now get Five's hand and we'll find a happy place for me to drink at."

* * *

_Winners live here. _

These were the words imprinted for Katarina to consider. None of the Garde resided in District Two that were indicated, and it seemed nice enough. Everything was pretty modern and almost fancy looking in addition, and it only appeared as a bonus to the Cepan.

"Winners….live….her…." Six stuttered a little on pronouncing the words through the dark twilight.

"Here," Katarina corrected gently, scooping her child up, "then I suppose you really _are _a winner."

* * *

They were cold. The rain was cold and wet. They were desperate.

"Is freedom free?" this was the question of the District Eleven mayor, bitter from being disturbed from his affairs with his nightly whore.

"No sir…." Adel croaked out, gripping the seven-year-old Garde close to her chest as he cackled out a smoky rasp.

"You have the right idea!" he heaved through his retching, "get in here!"

* * *

"What do you say, little bro?" Reynolds looked down to the seven-year-old boy leaning over the rails with him, "can you swim?"

"Uh huh!' he agreed, eagerly smelling the salty air of District Four.

The adventurer smiled down as he swung himself over. As he helped Eight over himself, he couldn't help but long for the forestry. None the less, the beaches were never a bad thing. It seemed like a good enough District to live in at any right….it might keep them safe.

* * *

Everyone knew Sandor had always been a techy. So when he found a District directed on technology, he was almost delighted despite it all.

"But it stinks!" Nine wrinkled his nose at the smoking that was constantly lingering in the air.

"We'll get used to it," the teenager simply patterned a symbol under the entrance, "let's get in there."

Nine never did protest, (though he was scowl/pouting,) so it was decided then and there that were they'd reside.

* * *

"Out of attention, unnoticed, and not important…." Crayton muttered as he carefully slid into the gates of District Five, "perfect."

Of course that was when a loud factory whistle awoke the small infant of Ella, causing some screamed sobs. Pressing her into his chest securely, he made a dash for a place that seemed abandoned, desperate to calm her before he was noticed by any of the people already living there. Once inside, he quickly came to realize he was not alone.

"You with the mayor or the Capital?" the older-looking girl inquired from where she sat around in rags with a boy who looked about her age and a young looking girl.

When he shook his head, the little girl moved over to make some room for him to sit as well.

* * *

_**Author Note: **_Just so we're all clear:

District One= Four.

District Two= Six.

District Three= Nine.

District Four= Eight.

District Five= Ella.

District Six= Five.

District Seven= Three.

District Ten= Two.

District Elven= Seven.

District Twelve= One.

I know it may be a bit confusing in the beginning, but it _will _get easier to remember! I put them in these different Districts based on personalities…;).


	2. Reluctancy

No Other Options 2

_**One's P. O. V. **_

"If you're late for the Reaping, you will regret living when you get back to this house," Heidi tells me stiffly.

"Yeah, yeah. Take it easy," I snap, not caring what she thought about that as I yank her stupid ribbon out of my hair, "and I already told you that I'm not wearing that stupid thing."

"Yes you will!" she snaps right back at me, "everybody in this damned District is dressing up and you will too! We're going to blend in just like them as much as possible and that is _final_!"

"Because I'm _sure _being a little different _one day _is going to make them think of us any different," I retort sarcastically.

It's the same old drill every year. One day out of the year, we all have to gather for a Reaping for the Hunger Games. Heidi is always flipping out because she thinks I'll get picked and die; It's never going to happen. In the meantime, she has to go by simply 'Heidi' and I have to go by 'Dusty', and she works in the coal mines while I pretend to pass school. I'll have to start working with her because I'm eighteen now, but I'm honestly not interested. (Meaning I won't do it. Nobody gives a damn about anybody else around here, anyway.)

Now she's going to argue with me some more, so I just stalk out into the dust bucket that is District Twelve. This place is a complete waste of space compared to Lorien- or anywhere. My 'wonderful' Cepan just _had _to pick the worst District out of the whole shitty Panem, and now we're all stuck here.

But I can't deal with my 'mother' 24/7, even though I do still kind of love her. So when I go into the woods, I practice my Legacies alone. If anybody ever caught me, I could give them their own personal earthquake, or blow them sky high with my ground manipulation.

As I make my way through this forsaken District, I feel kinda bad for everybody else who lives here. They're starving and live in severe poverty in the Seam where Heidi and I stay, just like us. We're all miserable and hate it here. Everybody else, though, is somewhat content with the lives they live. They don't have potential like I do; they belong here.

When I slip through the wire barrier, I note the Loric symbol still carved into the ground. Heidi made that on the night we came here almost eleven years ago- it's pretty wild to think, but I remember it perfectly. Shaking my head slightly so I don't have to do that now, I jog out into the wildlife and trees. Compared to the dusty grounds of District Twelve, this place is the only beautiful thing I've ever known.

Once I'm deep toward the heart of the woods, I begin to shake the ground. My Legacies are very well developed according to Heidi's occasional observance, which means that if and when the Mogs finally find us, I'll definitely be ready to fight. Maybe by that time the dumb curse will be lifted and nobody- especially Heidi- will give a damn if I meet up with the other Loric and we take back of planet.

While I'm giving the ground-dwellers a wakeup call, I hardly notice footsteps in the distance. There are a couple of other Seam kids who hunt here- Katniss Everdeen and Gale Hawthorne- but I'm not that worried about them. It's not like they can hurt me at any rate, and we've never really talked. They simply hunt for their families and I work to save a 'hibernating' planet.

_Simple. _

Needless to say, I'm a bit surprised when I discover a pair of hazel eyes staring back at me instead of gray.

My ground tremors falter, failing to create the illusion I wasn't causing them. Cursing under my breath, I avert my gaze from this new person's, having full intentions on hauling ass if they started accusing me of anything. They don't, however. They're too busy picking up a stone with an obviously sharp point, probably to kill me with.

"Take it easy," I snort, "I could easily beat you."

They're hazel eyes disappear into the shadows. Moments later, the owner emerges, looking bitterly unamused and confused. Her brown hair is in a stern braid, just like Heidi's always is, and her hazel eyes remain narrowed. She looks about my age, maybe slightly younger- she must be going to the Reaping as well. Since I'm already weird enough with my dirty blonde hair among all the other dark-haired of the Seam, I figure she's from the Seam side of District Twelve; I've never paid attention to her if she is.

Not that I really care. She's still holding that stone, which is still pointed at my chest.

"What's your sitch anyway?" I ask casually, not looking directly at her as I use telekinesis to yank the stone out of her grasp.

Dumbfounded, she stares at her fallen weapon. I have to smirk slightly as I heft myself up into a tree, fingers finding one of Everdeen's old bows easily between the falling-out bark. I plan on using it now if she doesn't beat it- Heidi would have my head if I risked showing any of my other Legacies or skills. The girl has seemingly recovered, however, and is now aimed to impact me with her precious stone.

"I don't have a sitch," she snarls, "you do."

And on that lovely note, she throws the rock. It's very surprisingly spot onto my ribcage, but I'm faster at this point. Easily, I flip backwards to the ground, bow still in grip. In an easy motion, I catch her little weapon as it falls and makeshift a notch into the bow. Seconds later, it's pointed directly under her ribcage with the string drawn back.

"Get lost before I take the same initiative," I growl, but she's faster than I thought she'd be.

The weight of her body impacts me just about the time the rock should've been impaling her. Crashing to the ground first, I begin tearing wildly at her back and head as we go rolling. Her hands are more interested in choking me or snapping my neck, but my constant kicking keeps her somewhat back just like her backward deflection keeps my hands from tearing up too much.

"What's going on here?"

We both freeze at the sound of another's voice. It's Katniss Everdeen, looking surprised but as solemn as always. Her bow is notched with a fresh arrow, aimed at the ground but prepared to shoot at any given second. Casually smirking, I shoulder the other girl off of my form and rise.

"Pleasure to meet you," I tell her cooly, "I was just putting this little girl in her place."

"If you go in that arena today, I swear I will kill you first," she snarls dangerously, flipping her hair behind her head and backing up like a rabid animal.

"Yeah, yeah. That's what they all say," I reply sarcastically as she bolts back into the forestry.

Katniss is staring after her, her gray eyes hardened. After a very long, very awkward pause, she speaks up again, "That girl is from District Two. She comes into the woods here because District Two is very nearby to hunt."

"District Two?" I snort, "they don't need food."

"I'm not sure why she does it," she simply gives a shake of her head and squats down, beginning to pick berries off of a cluster of vines and place them in a side pouch, "she's good. You should watch your back if you run into her again."

Snorting, I retort, "I'm not afraid of some pretty little hunter from the big bad District Two."

With that, I head back into District Twelve. I'm not worried about any of them- they couldn't ever do anything to kill me, not like a Mogodorian could according to Heidi. That District Two girl was pretty good- I'll give her that much. But she doesn't have anything on my Legacies.

Nobody does.

* * *

_**Six's P. O. V. **_

"Did anybody spot you?" Katarina's kind voice is my greeting as I jog back inside of our home, plopping the bag of fresh blackberries on the tabletop.

I pause, thinking back to the girl with blonde hair. There was something strange about her, something inhumane; it embeds hope inside me. Katarina has always told about the other Numbers, the other children from Lorien that came from our hibernating planet, and assured me that they were always out there in the other Districts. She talks about meeting up with them someday soon, when she feels we all should have mastered our Legacies. For now we've blended in and kept our heads low in the District; I've earned a reputation as one of the weakest in this District for a reason.

"No," I lie smoothly to my Cepan, turning so she can't see my guilty eyes. I don't like to hide anything from her, but why should I terrify her with someone knowing about my illegal actions?

"I laid something nice out for you," she says softly, the smile in her voice evident, "you'll look even more beautiful than you do now."

For her sake, I put on a smile. She's always been more girly and romantic than me- it's typical. She's already wearing a lavender skirt that reaches to her knees with a matching ponytail holder as well as a white blouse, which compliments her dark hair and dark shoes. She's gorgeous but, thanks to her disbelief, insists that I always am. We take after each other in the regard of disbelief in that area, at least.

"Thanks, Mom," I reply, my smile becoming more genuine as I plant a kiss on her cheek.

Once I've showered off and braided my hair to the side once again, I glance over Katarina's outfit for me. It's simple enough- a soft green knee-length dress isn't much to fuss over- so I slip it over my head and study my reflection in mirror. I'm nothing to gawk over and am reminded of that constantly by the others girl at the academy, but I honestly prefer to keep my face clean of makeup and tone down on the Capitol-proved luxuries.

Earth things don't matter to me- Lorien does.

None the less, I'm required to go the Reaping. It hasn't been so bad the last six years; I'm just another face in a crowd of thousands. Four out of those six years one of our tributes has come back victorious, so it's not so tragic as to when the children from the other Districts are reaped. I've never liked being forced to watch and to pretend to enjoy the whole idea is something to honor and idolize, but each year Katarina and I haven't had to pretend to be watching intently. Each year we've searched each new batch of tributes for someone who could possibly be from Lorien; last year we found one. He was from District Ten and fourteen at the time, making him the second youngest Victor and shockingly from an outer District.

He didn't die, so I can only assume that he was Number One. Go figure.

"Maren," Katarina's soft and kind voice speaks from the doorway, "it's time to go, honey."

Nodding solemnly, I bring my gaze forward. No matter how much the odds are in or out of favor, the Hunger Games are brutal and not suited for these human children. Someone like me could survive, but they barely have chance if they're not from the first four Districts.

Among other things, it's simply not fair.

* * *

"Hello, District Two!" the Reaper that came straight from the Capital announces loudly in the microphone in an announcer-type voice half an hour later, "and _welcome _to the Reaping for the 75th Annual Hunger Games!"

A loud roar of approval rises from the crowds in response. I simply quietly clap along, studying the prick on my finger from where they took my blood. Mogodorians could get the blood and track me- it's unnerving. My thoughts rest on that as the Capital man rattles on about Panem's history and the Games' origin; it's lengthy and pointless.

"Now, how about calling up the _lovely _ladies first?!"

This question inspires another scream of approval from the females around me, snapping me back to attention. He waddles over to the bowl full of names, his fingers eagerly grabbing up a slip of paper without a second to spare.

_He gets points for enthusiasm… _I think as he opens the paper, nearly tearing it in the process.

"Clover Jemany!" his voice echoes eagerly as everybody's heads snap back and forth in search of our newest potential Victor.

My heart plummets as a small thing from the crowd of twelve year olds steps up.

She's not small by any means- she's chubby- but it's still not a pleasant sight. By her pale face and sniffling nose, she's either been crying or sick….or both. She begins to take her place beside the escort, her eyes darting and somewhat hopeful, her face anticipating a volunteer to take her place. Nobody steps up, but there are several mumbled insults and demeaning words among the mass.

I twist around and see Katarina's tearful expression; she doesn't want that girl to die either.

"I volunteer…" my voice comes out in my weak, unconfident cover voice.

It's not five seconds later before several people snap to look at me, most of their expressions either alarmed or scornful. Even the Reaper looks surprised, but I force my slink into the aisle rather than rising to the challenge like I'd much rather do.

"You must think you're something…" a boy snickers in the crowd.

I turn to him blankly, "I didn't see you raise your hand."

Before I can regret anything further, I step on the stage and gently nudge the girl back to the crowd. Her thankful expression is almost enough to make what I just did justifiable….

Almost.

* * *

_**One's P. O. V. **_

"Dusty Smith!"

A chorus of snickers arises around me. Out of the aliases, Heidi had to give the most ridiculous; I sound like a boy to say the least. Rolling my eyes and sighing in annoyance, I step onto the stage and scowl at the crowd. The Games are retarded- I'll murder the other idiots easily.

"Wade Copper!"

That's, of course, about the time a sexy beast steps up on the stage. He's shirtless, tan, and has the good looks that look nothing like a miner.

_Well damn it. _


	3. Twisting Fates

No Other Options 3

_**Nine's P. O. V. **_

"Get out of the shower!"

I make a face at my Cepan's call, "Why can't you just go and invent the next thing better than the shower?!"

"Very funny," he's trying to sound unamused, but even I can hear the cocky smirk slipping into his tone, "now get out before I burn through this door!"

"Fine."

Reluctantly, I press a few buttons and switch off my supply of hot, soothing water. It must serious sucks to be the other Garde- at least any of them further than District Four- because I can't deny that Sandor and I live it up in District Three. He's a technology whiz in addition, meaning that our luxuries are among the most advanced in probably Panem. That, of course, doesn't mean that it's _all _late parties and vibrating beds; Sandor has made me train practically since we got here almost eleven years ago. If this District had a academy like Districts One and Two, there is not an ounce of doubt that I'd be at top, but since it doesn't, I have to settle for winning every fight I've gotten into since I was seven.

Today is the day of the Annual Reaping, but it's just a waste of an afternoon in my case. I practically _can't_ be Reaped- Sandor has got close relations to the Capital and their operations, and he figured out when I was twelve how to keep my name from going into the bowl. I've litterly got nothing to fear about today, even if it does really suck to see the poor humans have to go into an arena and die every year from District Three.

_Just another day in paradise, _I think with a sigh as I exit the bathroom, a towel wrapped around my waist.

Sandor is, as usual, already dressed to the nines with his face clean shaven and gelled and his foreign business suit straightened. He looks me up and down critically.

I know what he's going to ask before the words even leave his lips, "Will you please wear a suit this year?"

"No," I reply as easily as I have since he got me that thing when I was ten.

"_Please_?" he repeats a bit more insistently.

Groaning, I run my hands through my longer black hair, "How many times do I have to tell you that I'm not interested in looking like a business man?"

"As many times as I have to tell you to cut your hair," he nags, grabbing one of my wrists and, with it, a wad full of my hair.

I bat his hand away and glare, "I said no."

We both know who's one this argument, though.

* * *

"That's better," my Cepan approves as I head to grab an apple from one of our several fruit bowls.

I make a face in response and chuck an orange at him. I look absolutely ridiculous- I've prided myself in looking like a 'caveman' with my long, dark hair that I never keep straight cut or managed and my thick muscles that make me one of the tallest. But now he's got me in some Italian suit with some jell he smeared over my uneven pieces of thick hair; it was pure luck I got him off of my before he could try to tie it back in a short ponytail.

"I already look like a Capitalite," I grumble, "I don't want to look like a girl, too."

"Then cut your hair," he repeated, pressing a button to open up the door, "come on or we'll be late."

"Big whoop..." I grumble and head out.

* * *

**_Four's P. O. V. _**

My body is rigid as I watch the fourteen-year-old from District Four bring a stone down to the District One male for his final kill.

Henri's hand holds onto my shoulder gently, yet firmly, "Don't worry about it, John. If you get picked, you're stronger than the humans. But you know you'll have to live."

I sigh softly. Being from District One has had a lot of perks- it's really given me a chance to grow strong with my 'human' abilities and blend in out in the open. My Legacies are harnessed in Henri and I's large mansion, in what was supposed to be a gym downstairs. I've grown strong and skilled, and that'll come in handy if and when the Mogodorians come after me. In the past twelve years we've been here, there hasn't been a sign quite yet, but Henri and I both prefer to stay fully prepared. I take another stare at the paused image of the fourteen-year-old from District Seven, the rock bloody as he clutches it with tears slipping down his filthy fate.

"Do you think he's a Garde?" I ask my Cepan solemnly.

He merely shakes his head, "If he is, a very poorly trained one."

"Well, he won," I defend the boy lightly, "and he's only two years younger than me. He's obviously got some skill about him."

Henri considers this. "He did a very exceptional job at controlling any Legacies he had on the screen. I figure some of the Garde would've used them and blown our cover completely in order their own survival."

He gives me a stern look, a silent reminder for what's expected of me if I ever get Reaped. I nod quietly as the TV unpauses itself, switching over to the previous Reaping in District Three yesterday. A girl with two blonde braids by the name of Kelli is called to the stage, and with no volunteers, she begins to cry quietly. My heart cracks a bit, especially as another obviously twelve year old is called up. He stares at the ground as he begins to shuffle his way up; I hear a sob in the sixteen-year-old section. That's when a tall, muscular monster of a boy steps out easily from the crowd of seven year olds, his mug sour.

"You _all _are pathetic," he informs to solemn crowd, "letting two twelve year olds die my ass."

With that, he pushes the boy back into the crowd and stands beside the twelve year old. The escort is only fazed briefly before she begins fawning over the volunteer, sexily asking his name.

"Stanley," he grunts, "Stanley Worthington."

Kelli looks up at him with watery light green eyes, and only then does he show a slightly more light emotion as he places one large hand on her head gently.

The program switches quickly to District Eleven's Reaping. The mayor is making out with a woman who looks abused and sick when he probably should be doing a speech, so the escort cuts the chase and calls out for a Marina Underlie. The girl that was beside their makeout session grows weakly painfully, coming up awkwardly with tears pouring down her face helplessly. The bruises show she's been abused as well, and her nervous glances at the mayor prove there's dark secrets within their house.

_God Bless her soul..._

Henri's hand goes to my shoulder, "We have to get to the Reaping ourselves, John...all we can do is pray for them."

Nodding sadly, I slowly follow him outside. Dying itself has always been tragic to me, but what really gets me is the look of utter fear on those kid's faces. It's absolutely heart breaking, and it reminds me that we Loric have it relatively easy compared to these humans. It's absolutely awful, and my resentment of the Hunger Games and the Capital as a whole makes an outcast in District One.

_Better to be outcasted than brainwashed..._

* * *

"Sarah Hart!"

My eyes widen in alarm as a muffled sound comes from near me. About two rows back, a trembling girl in a gorgeous red sweater steps into isle and begins trudging her way forward. She looks like she's trying not to cry, to be brave in the face of danger. What really sucks is that she's been a crush of mine since I was about five, and now she's going to die.

'John Smith!"

Color peels itself from my face. _I've finally been Reaped. This is it. _

I reluctantly make my forward, standing as close to Sarah as I've ever done. She looks at with tragedy-filled blue eyes, like she knows she's going to die because of me. My chest tightens terribly as I stare solemnly at the roaring crowd, no volunteers willing as phones snap pictures. There are some of Sarah's friends giggling about 'how cute' we'll be as Careers together, but I merely keep my gaze locked on Henri. He's completely solemn and all business, but at least he's got his head on straight.

"I'm going to die..." Sarah whispers as we're escorted to the Goodbye Hall.

Not helping my testosterone, I reach over and take her hand, "I'll protect you."

_Henri is going to kill me. _


	4. Can't Win

No Other Options 4

**_Ella's P. O. V. _**

Tears quiver in my eyes as I watch the previous Reapings on the TV, the re-runs of the Games being cut off for that 'special announcement'.

The boy from District Seven looks alarmed- he also looked to be about fifteen, which meant he was going to be one of the younger tributes in the arena this year. Tears are forming in his eyes as some of the younger kids with their parents begin to cry, which only crushes my heart. He's going in with a girl who looks about eighteen and no-nonsense, like she's only a set mission. I'm starting to shake as they switch over to District Ten, where a girl who looks about eighteen is called up. She's got red hair and is sobbing with her glasses clutched in one hand, especially as a boy who looks about fourteen is called up. They both look so sad that I begin full-out sobbing into my hands, which makes Whiz pull back my auburn hair and tie it back into a ponytail.

"Don't worry, Ella," she soothes, "you won't be picked. Your name is only in there once, and if you are, I'll just volunteer for you."

"Pr-promise?" I ask shakily, looking up at her with tears still misting my vision. I've been dreading this day for years and talking about it anxiously for weeks, but now it's finally here and I'm still not ready.

Papa wraps his arms around me from behind, securing both Whiz and I to his chest. Things have been really hard for all of us ever since Lynal was reaped and killed, even though that was years ago. I was only four, but it made me sad for a long time and absolutely crushed Thal. She hasn't been quite the same since, (considering they were planning on marrying two weeks after his last Reaping,), at least according to Whiz. She was only eight at the time, but she was my best friend while Papa took care of all of us. Thal was already nineteen, and now she's a worker with Papa. Whiz is eighteen herself now, but this is my first eligible to go in the Hunger Games.

I'm not very trained because we've become a family, and they still don't know who I truly am. Then again, it's not like I have any Legacies to hide yet.

"I promise," she whispers, kissing my forehead as the train whistle cuts through in place of the normal factory-call bell.

Thal looks up, her face as vacant as ever. She's twenty seven now and still gets absolutely torn apart on Reaping days, so today's she's as depressed as she was when he died. I crawl over to her slowly, wiping away a lone tear and embracing her. We never make her go and allow her to hide, but she decided before-hand that she'll come to support me. They all know how shy and weak I am; they want to be there. She fixes her brown eyes on me briefly with something sparking in them for a moment, then reaches down to touch the dress I'm wearing. Considering we all live in a small shack and barely have enough to keep us all alive, this falling-apart pink dress she found in the dumpster with Whiz was fifteen is a rare delicacy apart from our usual sewed-together rags and ruined dumpster shirts.

It's much too big on me, but I'm grateful.

"It is beautiful," I assure to her gently, trying to give her a small sense of importance in what is her darkest day.

She seems to attempt a small smile as she rises. I find myself beginning to shake again as I make my way outside, sliding into the crowd of crying/solemn families marching in horizontal and vertical files like they do in the factory business. As I clutch Whiz and Papa's hands, my heart begins hammering so hard I think it might pop. I'm not equipped for even the Mogodorians, much less older humans trained to kill. Papa must notice my terror because he lets go of my hand and holds me to his side steadily until we're forced to separate at the entrance.

"Be my brave girl," he whispers, bending in front of me and giving me a last kiss on the forehead.

I nod tearfully before going to the desk with one hand still secured in Whiz's. She really is like my older sister; she won't let anything happen to me this year. Any year after that I'm on my own, but as a twelve year old my fate is assured. That's why I don't know why I'm shaking so bad as they take my blood and I'm shuffled in with the other twelve years olds in the roped-off sections. I long for her hand painfully as the escort makes their speech, showing the film once again before getting to the really important part.

I'm positive my heart's going to explode.

* * *

**_Eight's P. O. V. _**

"They look so scared.." my best friend comments sadly as we watch the Reaping stream live in the big screen. Being a Career District means most people honor the Games around here, so we're watching District Five Reaping live before we commence with our own.

"Ella Castell!" the escort announces, looking around expectantly.

There's a small gasp from the twelve year section and my heart plunges. Another little twelve year old is being forced into the arena this year, and that absolutely crushes me inside. I can't even begin to imagine what it would be like to endure the arena at such a young age, especially when I think of how scrawny and practically useless I was as a twelve year old. My best friend's face is twisted in addition as she steps out, her auburn hair clinging to her teary face as she looks around frantically. Her eyes are expectant- she probably has an older sister or something that she's waiting for.

Nobody speaks up.

As the Peacekeepers start shoving her forward, I hear many among our District mates snickering and taunting from where they stand safely. Even a few of the younger girls are pointing at her large pink dress and tears; My stomach twists in pure rage at their mockery. It's getting ridiculous, and it pisses me off for nobody to help poor things like this girl. She's becoming more frantic as well as she's pulled off her feet to be escorted to the stage, inspiring more taunts from my 'neighbors' as she kicks and squirms.

"Whiz!" she shrieks at the top of her lungs, "_Whiz__!"_

Nobody steps up, though, leaving her to sink to her knees helplessly on the stage. Her face is full of betrayal as she gazes at one spot in the ground, eyes red and gleaming with tears and anger. The cameras switch to the point she's looking, even as the escort rummages for the boy's slip of paper; They focus on a teary, guilty looking eighteen year old in rags. More anger churns in my stomach as I look at her; She must be a sister who didn't help her sibling, and that sickens me. As a seventeen year old steps on the stage, our crowd doesn't respond much, which inspires the mayor to cut off the connection and start our own Reaping.

"That's seriously screwed up," my best friend grumbles bitterly from where he's standing behind me.

"Agreed," I mumble back as they call a sixteen year old by the name of Layla to the stage.

This is my last year eligible _and _my last day. I turn nineteen tomorrow, but I was alerted by the mayor myself I was going into the arena if called despite my being nineteen if I did so. It actually pissed my normally happy, joking Cepan, Reynolds, off, but it's all the same to me. I could survive it came to that, especially with my best friend being who he is.

"Where are you?"

That's when I realize everyone is staring at me. My best friend nudges me forward nervously with a slight thump to my shoulder, and I shake my head a bit before making my way out of the area.

"Joseph-oh! There you are!" our escort grins widely as I step into into isle. Now the murmurs in the crowd have turned frantic, some insults but others sounds of impression.

Nothing new in this brainwashed District.

* * *

**_Ella's P. O. V._**

I can not contain myself any longer when Whiz slinks inside the Goodbye Room.

"How could you?!" I shout at her, clenching my tiny fists and wanting to break something, "you promised! _You promised_!"

Tears are in our own eyes as she reaches forward, as if to hug me. I just back up, disgusted at her attempt at consoling me everything is okay when nothing is anymore. I'm going to die in the arena and I'm going to hurt Thal and Papa bad as well as be killed off from the Garde. I'm not sure if there's a threat anymore to us on Earth, but if there is I'm going to be the only one gone. If I win, though, I'm going to have to kill when I can't.

My fate is ruined either way at this point.

I didn't want Whiz to die or anything, but she did promise she'd volunteer. She betrayed me and she needs to know that.

"I'm so sorry, Ella, I just got so scared..." she whispers helplessly, "_please, _you have _got _to win this. For everybody's sake, you have to fight no matter what the odds or circumstances."

I can't help but scowl, "Why should I?"

Her dark eyes plead with me as she whispers, "_Please_, Ella. For our sake...for _my _sake."

Her helplessness breaks me heart in half. Even though she betrayed me, she wouldn't be able to make in the arena any better than I will. At least I have some enhancements- she'd be a Bloodbath even easier than I'd probably be. I embrace her now, not letting go until she's dragged out and I'm left alone for a few endless minutes. When Papa comes in, he's almost in worse shape.

"My baby..." he whispers, "Ella, you've got to train as much as you can. This is _my _fault...I never should've let this happen..."

"Papa, it's not your fault," I whisper, gently stroking away his tears and cuddling up in his lap close, "I'll pay special attention, and I promise I'll try to win. Really, really try."

"I know you will..." He buries his face in the top of my head as reality sinks in for both of us.

_There is no way I'm going to win. _

* * *

**_Eight's P. O. V. _**

"I saw that look on your face..." Reynolds comments as we sit together in the Parting Room for the last time for a few weeks, "that little girl from District Five being Reaped sucked, but she's got a better chance at making it than you think."

I look into his face, searching for chances of him making another joke or a grin; I find none. I crease my forehead and inquire, "Why?"

"She's a Garde..." he tells me quietly, "as a matter fact, I think all of the Garde are going into the Games this year."

My eyes widen as I stare at him. Going against humans I could handle, but my fellow Garde? We're obviously all at different levels at training and ages, but if we're together we're required to fight to the death. The thing is we _can't_ do that, not if we're going back to Lorien one day. Reynolds hands me something, signaling for me to hide it in my pocket.

"That's my theory for all of the Garde. Make friends with them," he instructs me, then wraps me in a hug, "we're counting on you, Eight. Don't let them be killed."

"But _we'll _be killed if I don't," I mutter into his shoulder, "we'll have to bust out of the arena or figure out some way to fake it."

He looks up at me with the saddest, most somber face I've ever seen him attempt to wear.

"Exactly."


End file.
